


Daybreak

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, M/M, Morning After, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, attempted comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 06:11:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15357999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: Some things can't be fixed. Martin needs to learn that.





	Daybreak

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline vague, but intended to be roughly late season 2.

Martin was a cuddler. Of course he was, all gangling limbs and chubby cheeks, just a regular human teddy bear. But that wasn’t even Tim’s biggest problem, that he couldn’t extract himself from the tangle of arms and legs entrapping him like a particularly friendly octopus. No, his biggest problem was that this was his flat. He couldn’t just leave, because he didn’t have anywhere to go. 

Heaving a sigh, he tried to roll over, his attempt immediately foiled by Martin’s leg slung heavy over his, and the way his arm moved from hug to strangulation if Tim dared to pull away. Irritating, but it wasn’t Martin’s fault, was it? Tim shouldn’t have gotten himself into this situation in the first place. When Martin had shown up at his door last night, all wide puppy eyes and hands full of takeaway, Tim should’ve slammed the door in his face. Shown him that not all problems could solved by being nice, and that sometimes, people just sucked. But he’d already been drinking, so he’d stepped aside, and Martin smiled. And when he’d kissed Martin, three hours and far more beers later, Martin hadn’t stopped him. Instead he’d made this adorable little squeak, and tugged Tim closer. 

And now here they were, and Tim felt even more like an ass than usual.

The alarm clock next to his bed ticked up. 8:00 AM. With the night he’d had, he shouldn’t even be awake, but he’d forgotten the feeling of another person in his bed. Or maybe it was just that it was Martin, and not someone hot and funny and utterly forgettable he’d picked up at a bar. Another in an endless parade of faces and names he couldn’t remember after the sun rose. It’d been fun, once. Before. 

Arms tightened around his chest, too stiff for the languid sprawl of sleep. He felt the moment Martin realized where he was, the sharp, high breath, how he loosened his hold but didn’t pull away. Never really sure what to do, how to act. Always waiting for someone else to tell him.

Tim turned over.

“I’m sorry,” Martin said, big brown eyes wide and pleading. Tim wanted to kiss him, wanted to shove him away. Wanted to do both, in the sick pit of his stomach. 

“What’re you apologizing for? We fucked. So what. It happens, or at least for me it does.” Martin, to his credit, didn’t pull away, even though he flinched as the words cut into him. That was another thing Tim hated about him. So damn stubborn, he never knew when to quit, always putting his nose exactly where he wasn’t wanted.

“I meant to leave,” Martin said. Avoiding Tim’s eyes, the coward. And damn it all, he couldn’t blame him. “I’ll go now. Sorry.”

Sorry. Again. No, Tim wasn’t sorry, not for a damn minute of it. With his bed shoved against the wall, Martin couldn’t get out unless Tim moved. So he didn’t. And Martin just stared.

“You can’t fix everything.” He didn’t get it, and Tim needed him to understand. Before he broke, too. “You can’t just bring people tea, and say nice things. You can’t even fuck them. It doesn’t work like that.”

“Tim,” Martin said. A trembling, tentative touch against Tim’s cheek, and Tim’d had enough. With more force that he’d thought he was capable of this early, he bowled Martin over, pinning his hands at the wrist to either side of his head. Then he kissed Martin, and damn if it wasn’t exactly what he wanted.

Even last night, pissed as he was, it’d been clear Martin wasn’t nearly as experienced as Tim. No surprise there. But he was enthusiastic, and that same obsessive desire to please that drove Tim up the wall at work was more than welcome in bed. When Tim ran his tongue over Martin’s lips, he parted them eagerly, moaning as Tim’s tongue ran over his. And when Tim ground down, both of them hard, Martin gasped and bucked against him. He could do anything, and Martin would happily comply.

But he didn’t want that.

Tim rolled off Martin, ignoring the inquiring noise he made, and knelt on the bed, arse in the air and forehead resting against his arms, inhaling the scent of the sheets he’d meant to wash weeks ago.

“Fuck me,” Tim said. “Or leave.” Muffled by the pillow, but Martin definitely heard him, despite his resounding silence. Tim could practically hear him waffling, weighing the options like any of them were good. 

“Tim—” Martin’s hand brushed against his hair. Tim wanted to lean into the touch, but stayed where he was.

“No, we’re not doing this. You can leave, we’ll just pretend it didn’t happen. One night stand with your coworker, happens all the time. But if you want to stay—” Tim swallowed, sucking in a deep breath. The bed still smelled faintly of sex from the night before. “—this is what I want.”

Seconds ticked by, and Martin didn’t move. Then the bed began to sway as Martin shifted, and Tim tried to tramp down his disappointment. And his surprise, as hand came to rest on his arse.

“Where—”

“Lube’s in the bedside drawer.” His heart pounded with anticipation when he heard the scrape of badly oiled metal, the brief pop as Martin opened the cap. He wanted this. Not just to be fucked. Hardly his first time, and easy enough to find someone to do it with again. No, it was Martin he wanted. To see him, acknowledge him. Touch him.

Tim hissed as a lube covered finger slid over his hole, rubbing gently. Fingers brushed lightly over his hip, up his side, tracing a scar and resting there.

“I’m not a virgin. Get on with it.” Overly harsh, but he didn’t really feel like being nice right now. Or ever. Martin knew what he was getting into. 

“Right, I’ll—” He stopped the torturous rubbing, and for a moment, Tim wondered if Martin had done this before. Then he pushed to fingers in, and Tim hissed. 

“More,” he said. He’d already been half-hard, but now he was aching. He needed this, and he didn’t need so much prep. “Faster.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you—”

“Do it, Martin.” Another squirt of the bottle, and more fingers, still too kind. _Maybe I want to be hurt._ He didn’t say it, but only because if he did, Martin would almost certainly leave. 

The bed shook, followed by the click of the lube being set back on the table. The hands on his hips were shaking, but Tim didn’t care, because fuck, Martin was hard. Pressed against him, so much bigger than he’d expected before last night. He should really wear tighter clothes, show off those assets. Might make the day go faster.

He half-expected Martin to ask again if he were okay, but he was mercifully silent as he finally slid in, slow, patient, shaking as Tim tensed around him. In truth, he probably could’ve used more prep, but this was so much better, the burn from Martin’s cock. From Martin, who tried so desperately never to hurt anyone, and managed to all the same. When he stopped, halfway by Tim’s calculation, Tim grunted and said, “Deeper. I want more.” He shoved back against Martin to get his point across, and thrilled at the way Martin let out a small, almost inaudible moan, then obeyed. 

“Fuck,” Tim said under his breath. Quiet enough that Martin didn’t hear, or maybe Martin was too absorbed now, all the way in, hands grabbing Tim’s hips hard enough to bruise. He’d probably apologize later, and Tim would have to clench his fists to stop from leaving bruises of his own. But for now Martin didn’t seem to care, panting as he moved in and out of Tim, faster and faster as Tim egged him on. The angle wasn’t quite right, but it barely mattered. That wasn’t the kind of release Tim was looking for, as he pushed back into Martin again.

“C’mon, Martin, you can do better than that.” The words seemed to galvanize him, and he increased his pace. He even managed to hit Tim’s prostate a few times, sending sparks shooting down his cock. But Tim kept his hands clenched in the sheets, and focused on the fullness, the way he was stretched and how it was all still just this side of painful, just that side of perfect. 

Martin’s movements became more erratic, his breath faster and more desperate. It no longer mattered what Tim wanted. He just knelt there, sweat sliding down his neck and dripping into his hair, and took it all. When Martin’s fingers dug into his flesh, he knew that was it, and he shuddered as Martin came inside him. 

If he’d had any doubt that it was Martin he’d had sex with, it was put to rest when Martin slid out and gathered Tim into his arms, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, nuzzling at his damp hair. One of Martin’s hands drifted lower, reaching for Tim’s cock. Before he could get further, Tim slapped him away.

“I want to help,” Martin said, almost whispering into Tim’s ear. The wretched dog, afraid of being kicked again.

“You can’t.” Tim wrapped his own hand around his cock, too tight, but that was right, wasn’t it? This was what he deserved. He jerked off roughly, the sensation more pain than pleasure. But it worked in the end. He came onto the sheets, Martin’s hand still resting on the scar at his side, drawing aimless spirals on his skin.

He took a breath. Then another. A bird called outside the window, just a normal bird, not some eldritch monster come to kill him, not his boss trying to stalk him. And he leaned into Martin, who never seemed to care quite as much as Tim would like, but stayed with him all the same.

“I’m sorry,” Martin said. 

It didn’t fix anything. But Tim held on anyway.


End file.
